


Starved

by dirtybandaid



Category: Real Person Fiction
Genre: Angst, Columbine AU, Don't Like Don't Read, Dylric, Eating Disorders, Emotional Hurt, I Will Go Down With This Ship, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-24
Updated: 2018-12-24
Packaged: 2019-09-25 08:26:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,521
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17117888
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dirtybandaid/pseuds/dirtybandaid
Summary: That little voice in the back of his head had turned into a scream, and it never goes away.  It was about time someone else heard.





	Starved

**Author's Note:**

> *DON'T LIKE? DON'T READ.*  
> #KEEP YOUR HATE TO YOURSELF.#  
> %I DO NOT CONDONE/PROMOTE/GLORIFY EDs; IF YOU HAVE AN ED OR ANOTHER MENTAL ILLNESS PLEASE REACH OUT FOR HELP.%  
> @I DO NOT CONDONE/PROMOTE/GLORIFY ANY CRIMINAL ACTIVITY.@  
> &NOT ALL IS ACCURATE; I DO NOT HAVE A BETA; THIS IS OBVIOUSLY AN AU.&

_Disgusting._

Dylan trudged to first period Video, absolutely dreading what is to come of the rest of the day, the rest of the week, and the rest of his life. The pain in his gut was always the worst in the mornings and in the evenings, but he had to hold off. He had to be resilient and stay strong, or else. Especially since he had had Sunday dinner with Eric’s family the night before. A massive feast of fried chicken, mashed potatoes, and cornbread festered in Dylan’s stomach. Kathy had even made a batch of cupcakes for dessert, which he shamelessly ate two of. Although the bloating had gone away, the number on his scale went up a three and a half pounds this morning and he was mortified. He knew he should have purged as soon as he got home.

_Pig-like._

The door to the classroom was closed, which was odd because usually it was propped open, welcoming anyone who came in early or late. Dylan turned the knob and stepped inside, realizing that the Video class period had a substitute for the entire day. As he introduced himself and chatted with the sub, he came to find out that no assignment was given. He sighed in relief, knowing that he could take refuge in the back corner and scribble in his journal for an hour and five minutes. When he left the teacher’s desk, he made his way to his seat and got himself as comfortable as he could, despite the uneasiness in his stomach. It rumbled as he bent over to retrieve his notebook from his bag on the floor.

_Gluttonous._

Opening the cover and flipping to the next blank page, Dylan slumped over to hide his surface. He quickly began to vomit words onto his page through his ballpoint. Fast and nearly illegible sentence upon sentence was written with a shaky left hand. The teen felt an immense and overwhelming guilt weigh upon him, not to mention the physical weight already clinging to him.

The more he thought about it, the harder he pressed his pen to the paper. Dylan’s leg began to shake with anxiety. Amongst the muffled sound of his classmates chattering he heard a girl laugh horribly loudly. Dylan was convinced that she was laughing at him, at his failure to comply with his seamless plan to reach peak perfection. He belched quietly out of hunger, the air was flavorless and his stomach ached more.

_Hideous._

“Hey.”

A familiar and calming voice broke through Dylan’s red-hot thoughts. He slowly raised his head and relieved the pressure from his wrist, blinking a couple of times. Dylan’s eyes were dry, his jaw was clenched, and his leg was sore from frantically bouncing it up and down against the ball of his foot. The coolness of the classroom hit him like a burst of fresh air. He had not realized how immersed he was in his own obsessiveness. Sure, he lived in his head most of the time, but more and more often he was caught obliviously drowning in his cogitations. This time, it was Eric who had crashed his bullet train of thoughts.

_Weak._

“What’cha writin’?” Eric asked as he peered over Dylan’s shoulder. “More love poems that’ll never be delivered?”

“No,” Dylan croaked, then quickly clearing his throat. “No. Just some- Nonsense. You know how it is.”

The younger of the two swiftly shoved his pen to the middle crease of the journal and closed the ends in an attempt to show that he wanted privacy. Dylan felt his temperature rise all over again. Eric wasn’t having it. The clean-cut teen pressed his chest up against Dylan’s back as he tried to reach for the scuffled composition book. The other snatched it away from Eric’s fingertips, pressing it close to his own chest.

Eric huffed in his ear, “Dude, come on. It can’t be as bad as that little romcom you wrote about you and Robyn a month ago. Just let me see.” He angled his arm to reach into Dylan’s personal space, grasping at a few loose pages.

_Embarassing._

“Reb- Fucking stop,” Dylan quietly hissed. “It’s none of your business.”

Eric stretched his arm a little more, almost having a firm grasp on the corner, “I promise I won’t laugh, and if I do you’re more than welcome to detach my pinky with your bare teeth.”

“It’d be less complicated if you just leave it alone, Eric,” Dylan said sternly and slowly, trying to get the big deal through Eric’s seemingly thick head. “Now get off of me and drop the damned subject.”

Eric took his weight off of Dylan and stood up, “Okay, okay, I get it. Fine. You win.” He went around and took a seat in the empty desk in front of Dylan’s, sitting sideways in the chair.

The flight-or-fight response of Dylan’s nervous system began to seep away. He sat up and exhaled a pent-up sigh. It was already bad enough that his own mother was starting to catch onto his eating habits, it’d only get worse if Eric actually knew what was going on in his head about it. He gave Eric a small smile, “Thanks for understanding, man. I mean, you know everything about me, so, there’s gotta be at least some things I can keep to myself.”

“Right, right,” Eric nodded. “Sorry for being a jerk.”

_Fat._

Dylan shrugged, “It’s not as if I’m not used to it, Reb. Just try to- Hey! No!”

The one moment that Dylan had let his guard down, Eric saw the opportunity to snatch away the journal from his desk. Eric let out a goofy laugh and waggled the journal in the air, just barely out of Dylan’s reach. The taller boy was now at a standstill. On one hand, he really wanted Eric to read it, just so someone other than himself could delve into his mind and try to see what he saw. On the other, knowing that Eric is Eric, that very journal entry could be the push over the edge and Dylan could be left truly alone, all over again. By the time that Dylan went to stand up to try to wrestle the book from Eric’s hands, the older teen had already brought it down and opened it to where Dylan had left off.

As Eric’s eyes skimmed across the page, Dylan sunk down into his seat, knowing that he was ultimately and utterly defeated. He crossed his arms on the desk and put his head down, wishing that he could disappear as he squeezed his eyes shut. The murmuring of the classroom seemed to disappear as he tried to imagine what it would be like to die. Dylan figured it felt exactly like this.

_Fat._

Eric, taken aback, swallowed dryly. He lowered the notebook into his lap and gently closed it, the pen still stuck between the pages. He was at a loss for words. He felt guilty for not noticing earlier and even more so, he felt like a dumbass for feeling the same way. In a sense, he allowed his own disorder to be invalidated because Dylan’s was worse, or so he thought. Although Eric had managed to take one step towards recovery, each time he took five steps back to his obsession with food and ultimately, his weight. From hiding food in his room, to binging and purging, to starving himself for days at a time, Eric had felt selfless care for someone other than himself. He hated to think that Dylan was going down the same route. 

_Fat._

Eric cleared his throat to speak, but the bell signaling the end of the period rang loudly and intrusively. He hesitated, wanting to grab Dylan by the hand and drag him away to his car to talk to him, empathize with him, and maybe even cry with him. Instead, Eric set the composition book on Dylan’s desk and shook his shoulder, telling him it was time to go. He somberly, silently grabbed his things and went to the door of the classroom, looking behind him at Dylan wiping his eyes. He hated himself for walking away.

_Fat._

Dylan slowly began to build his wall once again. Brick by brick, he thought of new ways to hide and more creative ways to show that he wasn’t sick. And he wasn’t. He was just imperfect. He could take care of things all on his own. He just needed to be a little lighter, a tiny bit more elegant, just a smidge more smaller. If he was all of these things, then maybe everyone would like him, no, love him. Maybe he’d finally grasp the attention of one he wanted the most, the one who had just violated him and left him behind, used. And perhaps, God willing, if he were those things, it would be easier to be invisible, blend in, become a ghost. Dylan swore to himself up and down that he would never let anyone in again.

And he wouldn’t, ever, and never did, not even by the end of his life.

**Author's Note:**

> Having had my own experiences with EDs and ED related thought processes, as soon as I re-discovered this tumblr prompt I knew I had to write it.   
> _**“I have an eating disorder and you saw me writing about it in my journal but you’re the same” AU** (post: https://gaycolumbineclub.tumblr.com/post/151192990022/ ) _


End file.
